


Takes Pity on No One

by WizardSandwich



Series: Memento Mori [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: War for Cybertron Trilogy (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Prowl's designation is carved with care, though it is nowhere close to as gorgeous as some of the other carvings. The lines that make it up loop and connect in a way that’s almost beautiful.
Relationships: Jazz/Toaster (Transformers), Jetfire/Prowl (Transformers), Prowl & Toaster (Transformers)
Series: Memento Mori [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860151
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Takes Pity on No One

The memorial is just columns of designations carved into the base’s wall.

It’s nothing grand—nothing worthy of a mech like Optimus Prime. Nothing worthy of the mechs who comprised the Ark’s lost crew.

Jetfire can’t help but stare at it. Elita-1 had given the personal honor of carving designations to close comrades and friends and it stings that he wasn’t asked to carve Prowl’s. But Prowl’s amica had deserved that honor far more than any of them, he admits.

Prowl's designation is carved with care, though it is nowhere close to as gorgeous as some of the other carvings. The lines that make it up loop and connect in a way that’s almost beautiful. Beside it, Mirage’s name is a dazzling brother, delicate and truly worthy of an artisan.

Still, the only designation Jetfire cares about is Prowl’s.

He brushes his thumb over the first letter, tracing most of the descending lines as gently as he can. It’s rough, but there’s no denying that whoever carved it tried their best.

“Don’t ruin Toaster’s work there, mech,” comes an unfamiliar voice.

Jetfire turns his helm, meeting a blue visor. “I won’t.”

“Just making sure,” the black and white mech says.

“What are you doing here?” Jetfire asks, though he really has no right to. This is the only memorial they all have. If anyone has no right to be here, it is him.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” the mech says smoothly. “We’ve got some incense offerings for the dead.”

Jetfire hums. It’s a spiritualist tradition to guide the dead home. Or, as home as they could be. It was an old tradition, derived from old text from when the Guiding Hand’s followers were still prevalent. It was a rare sight after Functionism had stuffed out as much religion as it could. Most bots weren’t even sure it was being used correctly.

“Do you have enough for one more?” Jetfire asks after a long moment.

The mech stares at him, as if considering. Then he nods, “If Toaster says it’s fine, I don’t see why not.”

The designation strikes a chord. Prowl’s amica, perhaps. He’d never met the mech, but that was his designation and it was not as if Toaster was a common name.

“The amica,” Jetfire muses out loud, glancing toward the memorial again.

“The amica,” the mech confirms. “You’re Jetfire?”

Jetfire looks down at him again. “I am,” he confirms. “I didn’t know Prowl for long but—”

“Mech, everyone knows you were helm over heels,” the mech interrupts. “Don’t need to tell me.”

Jetfire doesn’t let his surprise cross his features. Instead, he looks toward the memorial again, his digits curling over Prowl’s designation. He doesn’t look back when he says, “I told you my designation. What is yours?”

“Jazz,” the mech informs.

Jetfire nods in acknowledgement. And they both fall silent until pedesteps start to fall. They echo off the walls until another mech enters the room. Jetfire turns again to face him.

“Toaster,” Jazz greets, tone warm and gentle. “You got the stuff?”

Toaster holds up a transparent blue box. Inside it, contained lithium candles clank together.

Jazz doesn’t smile, but his tone doesn’t waiver, “Let’s get them out then.”

Toaster sets down the box, “Drift said that we need to be careful, but that these should work.”

“Trust the spiritualist,” Jazz says, voice full of false wisdom. “We’ve got a guest, by the way.” He gestures flippantly back at Jetfire as he helps take the candles from the box. “He wants to light a candle with us. For Prowl.”

Toaster’s optics turn to him and Jetfire suddenly feels uncomfortable. It is one thing to have adored Prowl and another to have the optics of someone Prowl adored on him. He does not want to fail to meet Toaster’s expectations, even if they will never see Prowl again.

“Jetfire?” Toaster asks quietly, curious.

“Prowl spoke of me?” Jetfire asks, before he can stop himself.

Toaster shrugs, taking one of the candles in servo, “Once or twice. It wasn’t like there was a lot of time before you ran off into the Sea of Rust.”

Somehow, it warms Jetfire’s spark to know that, despite everything, Prowl had mentioned him. To his amica, no less.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Jetfire says, dipping into an old bow from his bodyguard days.

Toaster is staring awkwardly when he straightens. Understandable. Jetfire is aware his mannerisms can be too much.

“You too,” Toaster says awkwardly, after a long moment.

Jazz—falsely—laughs, though it doesn’t truly suit the moment, hooking his arm around Toaster’s neck. “I think you’re going to get along great.”


End file.
